


Capable

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disability, F/M, Gore, Haunted House, Non-Consensual, Public Sex, Rape, Sex, Sexual Violence, Smut, Violence, Voyeurism, non-con, specific reader attributes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: The reader was  born without her right hand, which leads most other hunters to judge her inability before they’ve even seen her in action. John reacts in the same way but when a haunted house has them trapped, they have to rely on each other.





	1. Chapter 1

“Can I get you a fresh cup?” Bobby offered and you shook your head, flipping the page of the book you were engrossed in. Your leg was propped up on the couch, wrapped in gauze from a nasty ghoul bite you’d picked up doing Bobby a favor.

He’d been more than happy to put you up for a few days and surrender some of his finest bourbons.

Bobby trotted away with the empty coffee mugs, bustling about in the kitchen. The sound of an engine rumbling outside caught your attention first and you frowned as Bobby returned, drying his hands on a dishtowel just as a thump sounded against the door.

“Expecting anyone?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No,” he replied, walking towards his desk and pulling out a Colt .45 before moving the door, keeping the gun concealed. You knew the second it was safe when his posture relaxed and he opened the door to reveal a man and two young boys, all three of them covered in dirt and grime.

You sat up a little, recognizing the three from descriptions you’d heard among other hunters. John Winchester and his two boys.

Bobby ushered the small family in and you instantly noticed the younger boy was terrified. He was tiny, a slip of a thing next to his bulkier older brother. The elder boy had a scowl on his face and blood smeared down his cheek. “What the hell happened, John?” Bobby asked, grabbing some towels from the laundry basket.

“Werewolf got the jump on us at our motel. Police showed. Wolf’s dead but -” John sighed, shaking his head. “I know it’s a lot to ask but -”

The older man opened his mouth to say that the guest room was taken but you couldn’t sit and watch him have to turn them away. “Bobby, it’s fine,” you interrupted him before he could say anything. “I’m good on the couch. Besides, I’ll be good to go tomorrow.”

“You got a chunk of calf muscle missing, sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere until I say so,” Bobby scolded. “I got plenty of room for all of you.” He held the towels out to the boys, who took them, smiling gratefully at him. “You two know where the bathroom is, go on.”

“I’ll get their things from the car,” John muttered, his eyes flitting to you. “Thanks, Bobby, I -”

“You owe me about six thousand, Winchester. Just make sure your boys are okay,” Bobby grumbled, heading back towards the kitchen. You smiled at his grumpiness before looking up at John.

He smiled, holding out his hand in greeting. “I’m John.”

Swallowing, you didn’t reach back to shake and John withdrew, looking a little crestfallen like he’d broken some golden etiquette rule. But you weren’t about to tell him why you wouldn’t shake his hand - he was a stranger.

And you knew what hunters were like when they saw how different you were.

“Y/N,” you offered, trying not to be rude. “You’re John Winchester, right?” He nodded and you chuckled under your breath. “I’ve heard some things.”

John’s smile returned and he scrubbed a hand through the back of his scruffy black hair. “Well -” He was cut off by a yell from upstairs and he rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I should -” He gestured to the stairs and you nodded.

“Don’t worry, John,” you called, “they were all good things.”

*****

“How old are they?” you asked suddenly when John wandered into the kitchen, looking exhausted. He’d been arguing with his youngest for the better part of an hour, the eldest boy trying to play peacemaker.

His eyes moved across to you and you offered up a smile, gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey on the table, keeping your other arm underneath, hidden from view. “Dean’s nearly 14,” he started, snatching a fresh glass off of the side and sitting opposite you. “Sam’s 10. I think he’s an early starter,” he groaned.

“Fighting you all the way?”

John nodded, chuckling. “Doesn’t help that the name Winchester comes with a stubborn streak a mile wide.”

You grinned back, watching him pour a healthy serving of whiskey. “Doesn’t like changing schools, huh?” John shook his head and you sighed, sitting back and running your finger around the edge of the glass. “I was the same.” He looked up at you and you shrugged. “Military brat,” you explained. “Dad moved bases every few months. He was killed in Iraq and my mom… my mom kinda went crazed and summoned a demon. I was a kid, didn’t know anything about them.”

“You found out,” John guess and you nodded in confirmation.

“Her ten years came due. I was confronted with hellhounds and…” You chuckled. “Things weren’t the same afterward.”

“Revenge seems to be most people’s motive for getting into this business,” John commented and you raised an eyebrow. “It’s certainly mine.”

“It’s not your boys’ though,” you murmured, picking up your drink. “They’re gonna fight you on it. Kids want what all kids want. Stability and candy.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Dean doesn’t fight me on anything. Except for Sam.” He looked up to the ceiling, hearing footsteps creeping across the room. “Sam fights me on every little thing.” Looking back down at his glass, he exhaled noisily. “But I gotta find this thing before it hurts anyone else. Before it comes back for Sam.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow but you didn’t ask any more questions. It wasn’t your business to know unless John wanted it to be and you weren’t inclined to stick your nose where it wasn’t wanted. “You stoppin’ here for a few days?”

He nodded, gesturing over to you. “What about you? Bobby said you got into a fight with a ghoul.”

Dry laughter left you and you sipped at your whiskey. “Bobby is overreacting because it was his case I did as a favor and yeah, a ghoul had a nibble. It’s nothing too serious. Just a bit of torn muscle. It’ll heal.”

John frowned with surprise in his dark eyes. Your attention was caught on his face; the three-day stubble littering his chin, the dark circles under his eyes, a fading bruise on his temple. His hair was all over the place but hell if he wasn’t attractive to look at.

Pity he’d never look twice at you if he knew the truth.

You didn’t imagine you could possibly hide it much longer.

“Ghoul bites can get infected. Easily.”

“I’m aware,” you replied, lifting your drink again, anything to distract you from how handsome he was and the familiar stirring in your belly as your mind conjured a thousand different ways to fuck him. God, you hadn’t had sex in a long ass time. “It’s clean, it’s dressed and I’m walking on it. S’not bleeding anymore.”

“That’s good,” he announced, drinking his own drink. “Bobby won’t let you walk out that door if you’re in any way compromised.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem you’d encounter,” you murmured.

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Bobby and I are… well, I don’t think we’re friends. But he loves my boys and they love him. He’ll keep ‘em safe if I gotta run.” You frowned at him, taken aback by his thoughts that he’d leave his boys. The expression on your face must have been telling because he frowned. “What?” he asked.

“Isn’t that reason enough to stop?” You swallowed, not wanting to make him angry but unable to keep your mouth shut. “I mean, I don’t have kids. I probably won’t ever have kids. No living relatives, nothing to tie me down. If I die, I die, no one would mourn for too long.” He made to interrupt but you stopped him. “But your boys… they’d never get over that.”

For a moment, there was silence and John stared at you like you’d told him to go fuck himself. Then he sighed and sat back. “I know that.”

“Then why…”

“I’m not sure I wanna be having this conversation,” he growled, tossing back the rest of his whiskey and standing up. “I don’t know you.”

“No, you don’t,” you answered, folding your arms across your chest, brazenly exposing your secret. John’s eyes went wide after a few seconds and you waited for his sympathy to kick in. Most hunters thought you were incapable, that you shouldn’t be out there. Acting like you were useless because you happened to be born without your right hand.

But there wasn’t any sympathy on John’s face, just curiosity. “Hunting accident?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Was born this way,” you explained simply, shrugging. You’d never known anything different so you were quite well-adjusted to your missing appendage. “I get by.”

“And you hunt?” John sounded concerned by that and it was worse than the sympathy. This reaction was what everyone had, the sneering, disapproving big male hunters, Alphas in every way. You were small and female and “disabled”. They couldn’t possibly conceive of someone like you hunting.

The only person you’d ever met that didn’t treat you that way was Bobby. Mainly because he’d seen you shoot a werewolf point blank in the heart from twenty meters away and he hadn’t argued with your ability since. “I hunt,” you replied stiffly. “I’m just as capable as anyone else is.”

For a second, you thought he might be stupid enough to argue the point but he didn’t, shaking his head as he turned away. Clearly, he wanted to argue it but the look on your face must have given him enough reason not to.

Finishing your drink, you returned to the couch, listening to John shifting around upstairs. By the time Bobby returned to the house, you were asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, you were back on the road, putting Bobby’s house in the rearview. Your encounter with the Winchester family had been amusing - Dean was openly curious about your hand, or lack thereof, and asked a lot of questions which you were happy to answer. John kept telling him not to bother you but you didn’t mind.

Sam, on the other hand, had been openly wary of you, not speaking to you without his brother in the room. It took him a few days to open to up to you and his first question was a clear indication of the caring person he was growing into, despite his father’s obvious irritation with him.

“Does it hurt?”

You’d smiled and shaken your head and assured him it had never hurt. It was just harder for you to wear gloves. He seemed to find that amusing and for the rest of their stay, Sam wasn’t so cautious around you.

They left before you did, heading out on another hunt. Your instincts had told you that what John was doing was wrong but your more rational mind reminded you that you didn’t know them and it wasn’t your place to tell him how to raise his kids. Both boys seemed confident and strong, defiant in the face of the life they were forced into and that gave you a small measure of comfort.

Bobby was in touch again before too long, calling you as you were finishing up a hunt in New Mexico. He had what was a suspected poltergeist in Colorado that he couldn’t deal with while he was in Atlanta. You took the job, checking out of the motel without stopping to sleep.

By the next day, you were rolling into Small, Colorado. It was a small town with a few amenities and what the locals called “Terror Mansion”. Built by an eccentric railroad millionaire in the 1800’s, it had been abandoned for over a hundred years and the kids liked to tell everyone they’d spent the night there. Recently, six idiotic teenagers had disappeared, and the authorities, as always, were stumped.

Checking into the only motel in town, you bagged yourself and room and started researching into the history of the place. It didn’t take you long, despite a quick trip to the town library, to find out that this thing had struck before. It was the very reason that the house was abandoned.

When night fell, you drove to the outskirts of town, parking your car at the top of the mile-long driveway. The entire place was cordoned off by police but left unguarded and it was easy to gain access through the broken front door. As soon as you stepped inside, you felt something was wrong with the place.

Turning your flashlight on, you moved through the first few rooms, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the furniture was still intact, their age showing in their general wear and tear and dustiness, and your flashlight coasted over half-rotten chairs and a piano with very few keys left.

The temperature dropped and you frowned, turning just in time to see the front doors shut. Lights around the room burst into flame as the entire room warped in front of your eyes, showing you a luxurious scene from a party or something, visible for only a few seconds before it disappeared again.

“What the hell?” you murmured, heading back towards the door. The candles remained on, flickering in the air and casting eerie shadows. Swapping your flashlight for your gun, you attempted to open the doors but they were stuck fast in the frame. “Shit. This is never good.”

Upstairs, someone yelled and you pressed your back flat against the door, aiming your gun at the staircase. Nothing moved for a few seconds, then there was another flash. A woman and a man, partially dressed in period clothing, fucking against the wall, his larger body pressing her into the wood. You blinked and the scene was gone, leaving you confused and a little scared.

“Hello?” you called, figuring things couldn’t get worse.

A shadow rushed out from nowhere and knocked you off your feet. Your gun went flying and you grunted as your shoulder landed against the wooden flooring, jarring your teeth. Looking up, you saw nothing but the flickering candlelight.

“Maybe things can get worse,” you muttered, getting to your feet and brushing yourself down. Your gun was nowhere to be seen but you had a spare, holstered inside your jacket.

Another yell distracted you and you looked up at the staircase again. It was probably a really fucking stupid idea but that was the entire basis for your lifestyle so you took a few steps forward until you were standing at the foot of the steps.

“Hello?” you called again, bracing yourself for another attack.

Nothing happened.

Putting your foot on the first step, the world shifted again, brightness making you blink in confusion as a man walked down the stairs towards you, smiling broadly and looking remarkably like John Winchester. When the scene disappeared like all the others, John remained.

Except he wasn’t smiling and he was running towards you. “John?” you yelped when he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the door. “John, what the hell is going on?”

“We need to get out of here,” he snapped, barreling straight into the door which didn’t budge. You pulled yourself free of his hold as he started to kick and punch the door, demanding to be released. When nothing happened, you waited, folding your arms across your chest. “Shit!” John yelled, giving one last punch at the barely dented wood.

“I could have told you that wouldn’t work,” you commented dryly and John turned blazing eyes on you. “But it was funnier to watch you lose your shit at a door.”

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, gesturing to the house around you.

A scowl planted itself on your features. “I’m on a hunt. Bobby called. Said this one needed taking care of.”

“Well, I’m here,” John growled out, looking back at the door.

“And we’re both just as trapped so why don’t we figure it out together?” you suggested, gritting your teeth in frustration. “You might think I can’t hunt, John, but the six dead vamps I left in New Mexico say otherwise.”

“Vampires are extinct,” he informed you smugly.

You rolled your eyes, sick of the macho attitude. “Yeah. So extinct they killed twelve people before I could track them down. But I suppose,  _ no one _ would have died if you’d done it.” He didn’t answer, pushing past you towards the first room you’d gone into. You grunted in irritation, following him. “Have you seen anything? Weird scenes. People… doing stuff?”

“Constantly,” John replied, looking around for a way out. A window held a possible escape and he crossed the room towards it, throwing open the curtains to find a solid wall. “Real original,” he growled angrily, stomping away past the piano. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Did you find out what it is?” you asked and he stopped dead, glancing back at you. “Because it’s happened before. It’s the reason the place was abandoned. I mean, this is prime real estate.”

John regarded you for a second like he was unsure if you were friend or foe. “It was a ghost. Gotta be.”

“Ghosts don’t raise every fifty years on the dot,” you explained and he raised an eyebrow, letting you know he’d come into this one practically blind. “Goddamn, John. Telling me I can’t hunt and you’re the one rushing into a haunted house without so much as a clue of what you’re dealing with.”

“Enlighten me,” he snarled, his posture aggressive.

You shook your head. “Tell me what you’ve seen first.”

“A party,” he said. “But not just a regular old-fashioned party. People were… being intimate in public. Like a sex party or something.” You stared at him as he shifted uncomfortably like a kid whose mom found his porn stash. “What did you see?”

“The same,” you replied.

“Upstairs was worse,” John continued. “The rooms are filled with them. They gotta be ghosts.”

“I don’t think it’s a ghost,” you sighed, leaning against the wall. “Something happened to make them leave this place. I’ve got a feeling, from the research I did, that it was a manetoa.” His face was blank and you chuckled at his cluelessness. “New one on you, huh?”

John nodded, looking around. “So, what the hell are we dealing with?”

“It’s a malevolent spirit, manifested by pain. Physical, emotional,” you shrugged, “it doesn’t matter which. This thing is rare and can only manifest every fifty years. Once it’s conjured to a place, it stays there, until it’s destroyed, feeding every cycle.”

“Every fifty years?” he repeated and you nodded.

“This house was abandoned in 1843. 1893; six people died. 1943; twenty-three people died.” You shook your head. “Apparently teenagers are dumb in  _ any _ era.”

“Okay, so we destroy the house,” John suggested.

“This thing is gonna find food somehow. It usually only had the duration of one moon, so we’re looking at about 28 days. The new moon is tomorrow night.”

“Time limits,” John grunted, pulling his gun out of his pants. “I fuckin’ hate those. So, how do we kill this thing?” he asked and you held up your gun. “That easy?”

“No, these are useless. The manetoa isn’t physical. It can’t be killed with weapons.”

“So you’re saying…”

You smiled brightly. “I haven’t got a clue how to kill it. I wasn’t expected it to have  _ this  _ much power but I’m guessing the four weeks of constant food has given it a little boost.”

“Great,” he groaned, heading for the next room. As you watched his retreating back, the room shimmered into another world and he turned back, suddenly wearing a suit of the era, frowning at you. “What -” The scene continued to play, not changing back. “Y/N?”

Your face was a mask of panic as you back up against the wall. The room was filled with various couples, groups, people all performing an array of sexual or entertaining acts. A man at the piano, playing a tune as a woman on her knees sucked his cock. “John, I think this is how it feeds.”

Things didn’t change back and John moved closer to you, his eyes dark with concern. “What, like a djinn? Making you think you’re somewhere else?”

Swallowing around the lump in your throat, unable to block out the sounds and sights around you, you shook your head. “No, we’re still physically in the house. It’s just making us see this.”

“Your clothes have changed,” John pointed out, taking your hand. You lifted your opposite arm, finding it the same. Your feet were bare and you wiggled your feet on the carpet.

“Not everything did,” you quipped. “I gotta admit, that might have been helpful.”

“Thought you said you could hunt?” he teased and you felt the ice-cold feelings you had towards him melt a little. “Come on. If this monster feeds on pain, we should try and stop what’s happening upstairs.”

You frowned, puzzled. “What’s upstairs?”

John scowled, leading you towards the staircase. “I hope you got a strong stomach.”


	3. Chapter 3

John was right about upstairs being worse. In the first room, a couple was engaged in some exceptionally rough sex, to the point that the woman was bruised, visible throat marks around her neck. It was hard to tell if it was consensual or not - the screaming didn’t make much sense.

The second room was a little more graphic. A man was naked, held in wooden stocks, while another equally naked man was behind him. You looked away when you realized the man in the restraints was not a willing participant and it didn’t look like the first time.

“What is this place?”

John grimaced as he loitered in the corridor, trying not to look at the despicable acts. “I thought it was some kind of bordello or whore house at first. But this…” He looked a little sick as he glanced down the corridor. “I don’t think you wanna see what’s going on further down.”

You followed his gaze, hearing various cries and pleas for mercy, your stomach churning unpleasantly. “It’s like some sort of extreme snuff party.” The only answer you received was an uncomfortable grunt. “This must be what it was feeding off. The pain of the victims.” You pointed back towards the room with the stocks. “That wasn’t consensual.”

“I know,” John muttered. “But we can’t save them.”

“You tried?”

“Hands went right through. It’s an illusion.”

“Spooks do that too,” you pointed out. “They can be solid at will.”

“Spirits are normally aware of humans. This thing… it knows we’re here but these illusions don’t.”

“So what happened to the missing people?” you asked, stepping back as a man ran down the hallway suddenly, disappearing into another room. At least he hadn’t been naked. You might have seen enough cock to last you a lifetime.

John shrugged at your question. “Beats me. If they were trapped -”

“They wouldn’t have starved to death in a few days,” you reasoned. “The last one only disappear three days ago. And no one who comes in during the day is hurt or trapped. No bodies, no survivors.” Glancing around the hallway, you sighed. “I think we should search each room.”

His expression was skeptical. “You think that’s a good idea?”

You didn’t know how to answer that; clearly, it wasn’t a good idea but the act of hunting alone wasn’t the best idea in the world and you did it every day. At least this time, you had back up. “Where are the boys?” you asked suddenly and John gave you a sharp look. “I’m assuming you don’t take them with you.”

“Dean, on occasion. But they’re back at the motel.”

“The Sunny Days Inn?” you asked and he nodded. “Me too. I didn’t see your car.”

“Parked her around the back,” he commented off-handedly. “And I walked here.” You frowned, following him down the corridor. “We’re staying together. Splitting up is always a stupid idea.”

“Here, here,” you cheered quietly, lifting up the ridiculous skirts encumbering your body. As you struggled to move with only one hand in unfamiliar attire, a thought struck you. “John…” He paused in his strides, turning to you. “We can touch the clothing. Affect the clothing. So… if some things are corporeal and others aren’t…”

“We should be able to touch the victims if they’re in this illusion,” he surmised and you nodded in confirmation. “So maybe… maybe this thing is corporeal too.”

You scowled. “That makes it more difficult if it’s able to pose as anyone. It could fool us into thinking it’s a victim and kill us.”

“But it kills people slowly, right?”

“I think so.”

John pulled a face, looking back towards the long corridor. “I guess we gotta take the chance.” He crossed the hall to another door, placing his hand on the doorknob. “You ready?” One sharp nod from you and John twisted the handle, opening the door to whatever they were about to see.

The room was empty. Clean and tidy, nothing to indicate it was any more than a bedroom. John frowned and stepped inside, holding the door for you and you tiptoed in behind him. “There’s nothing in here,” you stated, your brow furrowing in confusion.

John strode over to the window, pulling the curtains to find more solid wall. “I guess not every room is occupied. I could have sworn something was in here before.”

“What?”

“You don’t wanna know,” he grunted back, returning to the hallway with you behind him. The next room was not as empty and you only managed a second or two before you felt like you were going to throw up. John was quick to check the occupants, returning with a greenish-pallor. “Non-corporeal.”

“Looked real,” you whispered, wanting to scrub your eyeballs clean of the image. “She was -”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And they were -”

“I know,” John repeated, taking hold of your arm. “I said you better have a strong stomach. That’s not even the worst of it.”

Your stomach revolted against the diner food you’d had hours ago but you managed to hold your composure until the next room. “I don’t know if I can go in,” you admitted. “This is awful, John. These people… they might have been real. It might be what caused the manetoa to manifest.” John didn’t answer but his hand was on your shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. “And if those kids… god, what could have happened to them.”

“We’ll save as many as we can. There’s gotta be a least one left alive and we can figure out how to kill this thing so it doesn’t hurt anyone again.” He smiled a little, ducking his head to catch your eyes. “It’s what we do, right?” You didn’t feel the confidence he was exuding but you nodded anyway, watching him with caution as he reached for the door. “Stay here. I’ll shout if I need help.”

You nodded, hovering by the door, trying to ignore the cries coming from inside, the sound of skin slapping together and the stench of blood and sex. Ten seconds passed and John didn’t return. Pushing away from the wall, you dared to step inside, only for the same rush of wind that had attacked you before to throw you to the floor and slam the door in your face.

Before you could recover,  _ something _ grabbed you, dragging you down the corridor by your skirts and back into the empty room, just as that slammed closed too.

“John!” you screamed, managing to get to your feet and slam your fist against the door. You tried the handle to no avail, feeling hot tears of fright and frustration course down your cheeks. “John!”

“No one there to answer you,” a voice answered from behind and you turned, staring at the figure of a man, dressed in top hat and tails, a creepy smirk on his thin pointed face. “Clever little hunters.”

You were shaking now, all too aware of this thing’s preferred method of pain. “You’re the manetoa.”

He tilted his head to one side, his smile getting wider, showing pointed teeth. “And what a delicious world I found. This house of decadence, of sin, all these poor women and men, enslaved and abused.” A shudder made his frame shake and you backed up against the door. “I’ve fed so well here. I won’t let two pitiful hunters defeat me.”

“John will -”

“John Winchester,” the creature snarled. “So much pain and guilt. I’ve barely had to touch him and in a few hours, he’s helped me so much.” Wishing you had your gun was pointless but you wished it anyway. You always felt better with a weapon in your hand. “And you… you are oddly free of emotional pain. Obviously, you cope very well.”

“I’d say thank you but go fuck yourself,” you replied and the creature-man-thing laughed. The sound was haunting and chilling, filling your stomach with tar-thick dread that threatened to bubble up your throat.

“I like you,” the manetoa whispered, creeping toward you. “You… you will feed me, little hunter. And you won’t enjoy it.”


	4. Chapter 4

John turned as the door slammed shut, yelling out for you and slamming his hands against the door in a futile attempt to escape. It wouldn’t budge and he was left in a room, where a poor young girl, no more than eighteen, was being mercilessly beaten and fucked as she hung from the ceiling in thick ropes. Her mouth was gagged with a filthy rag and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Blood covered her bruises and John couldn’t bear to look at her.

The man abusing her pulled away with a grunt of completion and stopped, standing still like he was waiting for instructions. The girl continued to sob through her gag and John frowned as he recognized her features through the blood and grime.

She was one of the missing teens.

He stepped forward, reaching out to touch her face and she cringed, trying to get away from him but she was held fast in the ropes suspending her from the ceiling. “You’re real,” he murmured and she screamed, the sound muffled. “Ssh, I’m not going to hurt you,” John assured her, standing up and shrugging off his coat to cover her as much as he could. “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

The building shook violently and John was knocked to the floor. The frozen man moved, walking across the room to a table John hadn’t noticed, his hands stretching out to pick up a sharp scalpel-like blade.

“No,” John grunted, running to tackle the man before he could hurt the girl. He collided with him, sending him sprawling to the ground where he instantly vanished. John’s knees hit the floor, the scalpel protruding from his shoulder, blood staining his white shirt. “Fuck.”

He pulled the blade out, standing up and looking back at the girl. Quickly, he cut the ropes, lowering her to the ground. The building shook again and something roared - John could only guess that he’d pissed the thing off.

Plucking the girl’s gag out, she panted for clean air, looking up at him like he was a hero. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracked and John nodded. “They were -”

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothed professionally. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? This isn’t real. It’s an illusion. I know that doesn’t make it any better right now but you’re gonna get through this, okay?”

“Your shoulder,” she whispered, reaching out to touch it and John flinched away. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“John,” he replied, looking around. “Yours?”

“I’m Emily,” the girl answered, letting him help her to her feet. “How are we going to get out? Me and my friends have been here for days. I haven’t seen them.”

John grunted at that, helping her with the jacket so it covered her bare skin. “They’re in here somewhere. I think this thing can be hurt.” He didn’t hear her ask what it was - he was focused on the door, trying to figure a way out. Before he could come up with anything, it swung open, revealing the corridor beyond. “Come on,” he urged, leading her out of the room.

There was a woman in the corridor. She was dressed like an upper-class lady, in a bright purple gown and a veil covering her face. “Clever boy,” she praised, smiling at John, her lips stretched unnaturally wide. “Give her hope. Let her taste freedom. It will only make her pain sweeter.”

Emily shrieked, snatching her hand from John’s grasp and sprinting the opposite way from the creature. He turned, yelling out for her to stop as the woman laughed maniacally. A door opened and something sprung out, suspending the teen in mid-air.

John could only watch as her body spun, the unseen force choking her, turning her face blue. “Stop!” he shouted but the creature behind him only laughed.

“She’s seen false hope,” she said through her cackles. “And it tenders the flesh.”

With an audible snap, Emily’s neck snapped and she crumpled to the ground, John’s scream of anger echoing through the air. He spun on the spot, ready to attack but the manetoa was gone, leaving him alone in the corridor.

“Oh so delicious,” a wind whispered around him and John fell into a defensive posture. “Your pain is so deep in your bones, John Winchester. With you, I’ll never need to sleep.”

Nothing was there and he kept his guard up, moving down the corridor and past Emily’s corpse. His heart hurt with her death and although he knew it only fed the creature, he couldn’t stop it. Despair started to take hold as he thought of you, wondering if he’d fail again.

“No,” he ground out. “No!” The repeat was a yell. “I’m not going to let anyone else die here.”

*****

So far, the entire experience had been rather disappointing, if you were stupid enough to say it. The manetoa had made its threats and disappeared into nothingness, leaving you alone in the empty room. After a while, you’d braved moving away from the door, after testing it a few more times, sitting on the bed and waiting for death.

Minutes ticked by and you grew more and more frustrated and anxious. It was silent, almost maddening and a little part of you was actually sick with the tension. “Was that it?” you called out, taunting it. “Because I’m only feeding you by being painfully bored right now.”

Nothing responded and you sighed, standing up and deciding to search the room for a weapon. It was a fruitless exercise and only helped your thoughts turn to John. Was he okay? Was he hurt? Was he even alive? You weren’t sure how you’d come to care so much about a man you’d only spent a week or so with and had found increasingly frustrating in the last hour.

“He’s attractive and intelligent. Very manly,” you reasoned with yourself, standing straight as the door opened and the object of your musings walked in. “John!” you cried, running towards him. He turned to shut the door, looking at you impassively. Stopping short of hugging him, you tilted your head, blinking in confusion when he didn’t say or do anything. “John?”

He grabbed you, hauling you towards the bed and you realized that it wasn’t John. Or if it was, he was being controlled. You weren’t entirely sure of the manetoa’s capabilities, so it was unclear if that could be true - you had to assume it was.

“John, it’s me,” you pleaded as he forced you down onto the bed. “It’s me, Y/N. Please!”

One hand circled your throat and cut your air off, forcing you to gasp and thrust your hand into his face. John simply pinned it by your head with his free hand and you resorted to using your less able arm to strike him. The good thing about not having a hand was that it hurt your opponent a lot more when you hit them with the blunt wrist, the bone hard enough to make John’s nose crunch audibly.

It didn’t snap him out of it but he did release you, allowing you a few seconds to roll away. His fingers caught your skirts, dragging you back towards him and you screamed, kicking out, not able to get enough purchase with your hand to free yourself.

John pushed your skirts up and you sobbed, shaking and crying out, knowing no one could hear you. His fingers were on your panties, dragging them down and you knew there was no way to stop what was coming.

A gunshot rang out and the side of John’s head exploded, dropping him to the floor and freeing you. You screamed again and the door burst open, revealing the real John, bloodied and sans jacket, just as the dead one dissolved into nothing.

“John!” you screeched, tears streaming down your face and he rushed to you, holding you close to his chest.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his fingers digging into your shoulder. Your panties were still around your knees, tangled and restricting your movement. When John released you, you slipped from the bed, rearranging yourself so you were dressed properly. John dropped to his knees in front of you. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you whispered, ghosting your fingers over the wound to his shoulder. “It… it only just came in here.”

“I think this thing has limitations,” John said slowly, cupping your cheek, still disbelieving that you were unharmed. “It can only manifest in one place at a time. So it’s dividing its attention.”

“That’s why it made me wait for so long,” you realized, standing up as he did. “Where did you get the gun?” He offered it out and you blinked at it. “That’s mine.” You reached out and he handed it to you - goddamn you felt miles better just holding it. “Thanks. You’re hurt,” you commented.

“It’s nothing. Not even that deep.” A deep sigh left him. “At least we know we can kill whatever form it in is,” he deduced, moving out into the corridor. “I found one of the victims but… I was too late.” You frowned, seeing the hurt and guilt on his face before you spotted the corpse in the corridor, wearing John’s missing jacket. “I thought they didn’t find any bodies?”

Looking around, you sighed, trying to figure it out. “I heard a legend once about things that can exist in a different plane. Like how ghosts do. Sort of. Maybe this is like a pocket dimension?”

“That sounds fucking ridiculous,” John snorted before he rolled his shoulders. “But I guess, a lot of the shit we deal with sounds that way.” You laughed humorlessly, moving past door after door. “We need to figure out how to kill this thing.”

As you moved along, neither of you spoke and nothing jumped out of the shadows. When you returned downstairs, the couples were all gone, the bottom rooms empty. “This is odd,” you murmured. John stopped, eyes wide and you frowned, turning to face him. “What?”

“Pleasure,” he said suddenly.

“What?” you repeated, unsure of what he was saying.

“I think… this thing feeds off pain. And it wasn’t happy when I tried to rescue the girl. Kept saying that “hope” makes the pain sweeter. But it freaked out when I saved her. Killed her to hurt me.” He locked his eyes on yours. “I think pleasure would kill it.”

You pulled a face. “I don’t exactly see a tub of chocolate ice cream and a box of Star Trek movies.” John looked at you in surprise. “What? Hunters relax. Sometimes.”

“I didn’t say relax,” John muttered darkly. “This thing is feeding off of sexual pain. The opposite would be…” He trailed off and you felt a sudden burst of warm between your thighs.

“Sexual pleasure,” you whispered. “Erm…”

“Yeah,” John agreed, shifting uncomfortably but the tight trousers didn’t do anything to conceal the erection in his pants. You took it as a compliment and tried to remember how to breathe. “We could… do it ourselves?” You suddenly felt warm all over. He was suggesting you touch yourself.

“You said it wasn’t a good idea to split up,” you forced out, your words barely audible.

John’s face took on a whole different expression and you suddenly noticed how close he was to you. “I wasn’t suggesting we do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Neither of you had moved for a few moments after John’s heavy words. Your eyes were locked together, both of you breathing heavily as the terror of the situation turned into something entirely new and slightly worrying. John was attracted to you, although it hadn’t been obvious before, and you were certainly attracted to him. But you couldn’t remember when your last date was, let alone the last time you kissed someone.

John moved closer, reaching out to touch your face. “We don’t have to look at each other,” he reassured you. “I know this isn’t ideal first date material,” he joked, “but if it helps, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Bobby’s.”

You swallowed as you processed that piece of information. In truth, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him. More than once, you’d had to stop yourself from calling Bobby to see where he was. When you’d first seen him the house, you’d been overjoyed, but you hadn’t had time to deal with it then.

And then there were the few occasions you’d called out for John when you’d been lonely and seeking reprieve in your own touch.

“Me either,” you whispered back, “and… we can look.”

He smirked. “You sure?”

A slow nod and you swallowed again, wondering why your mouth was so dry. “What if it attacks us?” you asked and John sighed. “Maybe if we’re that good, it’ll kill it quickly?”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, I’ll bet you are that good too.”

Boldness took control and you ran your hand down his chest to the buckle of his belt. “Maybe we should make  _ sure _ it’s pleasurable enough. Just to definitely kill it.”

“I like your thinking,” John growled, the primal sound turning into a groan as you cupped him through his pants. “Fuck. You know how many times I jerked off imaginin’ you?”

You gasped as he reached around to grab your ass, pulling you flush against his body. His lips met yours with an overwhelming intensity and it was a second or two before you responded to the touch, slinging your arm around his shoulder and touching his face with your hand.

He moved, picking you up in his strong arms, carrying you towards the nearest surface, which happened to be the piano. It was low to the ground, probably absolutely filthy in the actual world but here it was polished wood, smooth to the touch and easy for John to position you on. You perched on the edge, accepting the second kiss, pressing your tongue against his.

Already you were on fire and the room shook violently, forcing you to break apart. “Ignore it,” John ordered quietly, seeking out another taste of your lips. “If we ignore it, it’ll go away.”

“Isn’t what everyone says?”

He smirked. “Worth a try. If we’re gonna die, this is probably the best way we could go out.” You raised an eyebrow, issuing an unspoken challenge that made John’s eyes crinkle in laughter. “Pleasure,” he reaffirmed, his hands pushing your skirts up to bunch them around your waist, one hand pushing you back. “Let me kiss you.”

Clearly, he didn’t mean your mouth as his finger dragged your panties down and discarded them, replacing the fabric with his tongue and you cried out instantly. It had been too long since anyone had touched you like this and John knew what he was doing.

One single finger prodded at your entrance, finding you wet and wanting and you gasped as his tongue grazed your clit, the layers of your dress rustling around you. The building shook again, little patches of wall turning into rotten planks.

The dimension was weakening and John had barely touched you.

He pressed into you, curling his finger to seek out that sweet little spot that would make your entire body shudder and when he found it, he chuckled against you, the vibration making his tongue on your clit feel positively sinful. The stubble on his cheeks tickled your thighs and you arched up, begging for more.

John obliged, adding a second finger and thrusting them lazily into you, moaning against your clit, his tongue continuing to stroke over the sensitive bud. You were so close to the edge, desperate to cum and John was intent on pushing you into oblivion.

It was very hard to keep your focus when you could be attacked at any moment and the building was still trembling, more and more cracks appearing in the false dimension. “John,” you begged, “please, fuck me. I wanna cum on your cock.”

He groaned at that, lifting himself from between your thighs and pressing you flat against the piano, fumbling between your bodies to unbuckle his belt. Once his cock was free, he pushed into you without waiting, holding you close with your arm looped around his shoulders, fingers playing in the soft curls at the base of his neck.

“Fuck me,” you repeated huskily and John growled, slamming his mouth against yours as he started to move. You cried out against his lips, granting access to his tongue, both of you fighting playfully for dominance as the manetoa screamed in outrage. The ghosts were appearing now from all over but you couldn’t pay them any mind - the pleasure was more than you’d ever experienced.

“Wanna cum on my cock, sweetheart?” John rumbled, barely breaking away from you. A ghost reached out and he almost reacted but the spook went straight through him, screeching in anger before disappearing. More and more of them tried, forced back by the opposing power, John’s hips working fast to give you what you wanted.

The house shook one last time as you finally came, clenching down on his shaft until he groaned, and the dimension faded away to the rotten remains of the old house. You gasped as John withdrew, finding yourself back in your shirt, your jeans and shoes in an unidentified location.

“You okay?” John asked, fastening his jeans, grabbing your panties from the floor.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “It worked.”

A smirk curled his lips. “Oh, ye of little faith. I know my way around a woman.” You smiled back at him, taking your panties and slipping them on. The doors to the house swung open and you both turned. “Although,” John drawled, “my performance could use a little improving.”

Before you could come up with a sultry response, there were sounds from upstairs, cries of help, and the sexual tension snapped like a twig. “We can talk about that later,” you said, slipping your panties on. “It got the job done.”

John laughed as you headed towards the stairs in just your panties, bare feet padding on the floorboards. “Damn right it did.”

*****

Three of the teens were still alive inside the house and once you’d located your pants and shoes, you alerted the authorities, telling them that they would be safe. John was quick to take you up on your offer of a ride back to the motel and once in the parking lot, the car cooling quickly in the night air, neither of you moved.

“So,” you started, fiddling with your keys.

“You’re a pretty capable hunter,” John murmured, leaning against the door with one arm stretched out towards the dash, eyeing you like the juiciest steak he’d ever tasted. His tongue was tucked between his teeth making his expression lewd in every sense. “Pretty capable at other things too.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you replied, smirking right back at him. “But right now, your boys need to know you’re okay.”

The comment soured the mood and John sighed. “You’re right.” His eyes went to the line of blue motel room doors, the sickly yellow surrounding them almost luminescent in the dim moonlight. “What room are you?”

You blinked, turning your head to look at him, that familiar warmth blossoming between your thighs again. “Sixteen,” you answered and John nodded. “Why?”

He chuckled, climbing out of the car and closing the door before leaning down through the open window. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“John,” you called but he was already turning and walking away, a swagger to his gait that only made you more frustrated. You got out of the car, slamming the door. “John! It’s 3 am, it  _ is _ morning.”

He turned back, loitering by the door with the number “12” painted on it. “Guess you’d better grab a shower then, darlin’,” he teased, opening the door and slipping inside. His meaning took a few seconds to sink into your brain and you frowned at the now-closed door.

Within seconds, you were in your own room, collapsing against the door. John could come over at any moment - he was probably checking on his boys before he came to you. You looked down at your filthy and rumpled clothes, thinking about how they got that way and promptly ran for the shower.


	6. Chapter 6

When you emerged from your shower forty-five minutes later, John was already sat on the motel bed, leaning back with his wet hair dripping onto the covers. Obviously, he’d found the time for a quick wash-down too and you licked your lips, clutching your towel to your chest.

“Good morning,” he greeted, smirking at you.

“Are the boys okay?” you asked, sauntering across the room towards your duffel bag, locating your hairbrush.

John nodded, chuckling. “Yeah. Dean was still awake. Sammy’s out cold. I gave Dean a few dollars and told him to take his brother out for breakfast in the morning.”

You arched an eyebrow as you ran the brush through your hair, using your right wrist to hold your towel up. John’s eyes lingered on you, making your whole body aware of his presence. “So you’re expecting a late morning?”

“Very late,” he rumbled darkly, leaning further back on the bed. “Take that towel off,” he added. “Show me what I’m missing out on.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grunted, dropping the brush and then the towel. “That better?” John didn’t answer, instantly reaching out to drag your nude body onto the bed with him. You squeaked and giggled, settling in next to him, feeling the remaining droplets of water cascade off your skin onto the bed.

John kissed you, without warning, wrangling a high-pitched moan from your lips, smiling against you. “I’ll be honest,” he murmured, “I’ve been wanting to do everything to you since I laid eyes on you.”

You smiled, laying back and lifting up your right wrist. “Even disabled as I am?” you teased and John chuckled.

“Sweetheart, you are anything but disabled. I shouldn’t have doubted your capabilities. If I’d been stuck with anyone else in that house -”

“They would have been as lucky as I got. You would have figured it out.”

John tisked, sighing heavily. “I got a feeling that if you’d found that girl, Emily… maybe she could have gone home.”

“It’s a risky job, John,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. “Can’t save everyone.” You trailed your fingers down his chest, tugging at the material. “Let’s just hope that thing doesn’t rise again in another fifty years. I’ll wait for the police to clear out and make sure it’s done.”

“Enough shop talk,” John growled, pushing you onto your back. “I think it’s time I showed you just how much pleasure I’m capable of.”

His mouth covered yours, seeking a deep intense kiss that caused your eyes to flutter closed and an unbearable heat to sear through your body. You clutched at him with your one hand, cupping the back of his head to pull him in closer and John reacted by pushing his tongue against yours, sliding his larger body between your thighs.

You pulled at his clothes, protesting his lack of undress and he quickly removed his shirt, giving you the satisfaction of his warm bare skin on yours and allowing you to check his injury. It was covered with a thin cause, minor like he’d insisted and John quickly pulled away. He wasn’t exactly nimble as he removed his shoes and pants but the end result was much the same and your body reacted to his nude flesh pressing into you, heart racing and skin flush with excitement.

Just the glimpse of what he could do in the house had been enough to fuel your fantasies forever but you wanted something to keep him thinking too.

Pushing him back, you smirked, crawling down his body until your positions were reversed - John was flat on his back, head cushioned on the pillows as you laid between his legs, encasing his cock in your fingers, smiling at him when you bestowed one lick to the tip. John groaned loudly, tipping his head back, giving you free reign to do what you liked to him.

Balancing yourself on your right forearm, you slid your mouth down around him, drinking down his little gasp of pleasure and closing your eyes to focus on what you were doing. His skin was salty, not unpleasant to taste but it was overwhelmed by the musky scent of him, mixed with the body wash he’d obviously cleaned thoroughly with.

“Shit, baby girl,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke through your hair as you sucked his cock like you knew what you were doing. You didn’t have anything but John’s sounds to guide you as to what felt good for him but the burst of precum on your tongue was definite reassurance that you weren’t completely out of practice.

Trailing your fingers down, you cupped his sac, humming around him when his cock twitched in response and his hips refused to stay down.

“I’m gonna cum in that pretty little mouth if you keep this up,” he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair. “And I’m supposed to be showing off my endurance right now.”

Lifting off of him with a wet pop, you smirked, leaning on your elbow to watch him, strung out and panting, sweat clinging to the salt-and-pepper hair on his chest. “I won’t be disappointed. However long it lasts.” John chuckled, releasing his hold on you and allowing you to crawl up the length of his body. “Besides,” you shrugged, leaning down to kiss him hard, “I think it’s my turn to be on top.”

A whispered curse left his lips as you straddled him, his cock sliding between your folds but not penetrating you. John’s eyes darkened, his hands on your hips as you pressed down, rutting against his length and teasing him. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured, fingers digging into your skin.

“At least it’s with pleasure,” you replied, your voice shaking when the tip of his cock bumped your clit. “Fuck, want you so bad.”

“You got me, right here,” John rumbled back, not making any move to take the control back. The arousal that soaked your brain made it hard to think coherently, so you kept moving, teasing him with the slick of your pussy, letting his cockhead catch on your entrance repeatedly until he was almost snarling in desperation. “Ride me,” he ordered. “Wanna feel that wet warm little pussy around my dick.”

You nodded, pressing down against him until he slipped into you, just an inch at first, but the memories of him fucking you on the piano came roaring back, prompting you to obey your greed. John’s hands clutched your body tightly as you took him in, bit by bit until he was pressed against your cervix, filling you in a whole new delicious angle.

“Fuck,” you gasped, leaning over him, supporting your weight on your forearms, your face millimeters from John’s. He groaned, gasping for breath before seeking out your lips, probing your mouth with his tongue while you adjusted to the thick shaft buried inside you.

John’s hips were jerking with the tight hold on his control, his cock twitching inside you and you reflexively clenched around him, making him growl. A rebellious thought formed in your head - John had been so intent to prove his sexual prowess but like this, he was helpless, subject to your every whim and you suddenly wanted to show him how good you were.

Sitting back again, you placed your one hand on his chest, situating your weight so he was buried to the hilt inside you, so deep it forced a whimper from your throat. Without waiting, you rolled your hips, lifting slightly before slamming back down and your reward was a strangled cry.

Keeping up your actions, you felt your heart rate quicken, and you could feel the burning climax in your belly. John’s pleasure was disregarded for your own but he wasn’t losing out, watching you with lidded eyes as you rode him to your own completion. He kept hold of your hips, encouraging you, his body shaking as he slowly lost his composure.

Finally, you came, crying out, vaguely hearing someone banging on the wall of the room next door and telling you to shut up, but you were too far gone. John fell into his own orgasm, dragging you down into a heated kiss as he pumping thick ropes of cum into your body.

Both of you collapsed, spent and sweaty, sharing lazy kisses until you were forced to part, each of you cleaning up. You sat on the bed after you’d dressed in your underwear, watching John pull his pants on.

“You leavin’?” you asked, hesitantly. “I mean, I’m not expecting flowers and chocolates. Hunters ain’t like that.”

“No,” John agreed, “they’re not.” He moved over, kneeling in front of you. “But I wouldn’t say no to seein’ you again.” He leaned up to kiss you, soft and sweet, unlike the kisses you’d shared before. “I still got a performance to outshine.”

“Do you have to leave right now?” you murmured, still aroused by his touch and John smirked, cupping your cheek.

“I’m in no rush.”

 


End file.
